


Right off the Rails

by autoschediastic



Category: Iron Man (2008), Marvel
Genre: M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's still pretty sure the dirty little fantasy playing out in his head isn't going to come true. Almost one hundred percent sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right off the Rails

Nine times out of ten, Tony doesn't have a plan for this sort of thing. It's not that he objects to plans, it's that he's good at winging it. _Really_ good at winging it. So he didn't plan on standing in the middle of his office at ten to ten on a Wednesday night with his tongue in Steve's mouth and Steve's dick digging into his belly, but he is way more than willing to go with it.

When he starts backing them towards the couch, Steve says something that sounds suspiciously like, "You've got a meeting at nine," but obviously can't be because one, no one would ever schedule a meeting they actually thought he'd attend for nine in the fucking morning, and two, why the hell is Steve even trying to talk.

"Okay," Tony says, mostly so Steve won't think he's being ignored. "But keep kissing me."

Steve's laugh is warm and Tony bites playfully at his chin. The swat Steve aims at his ass in retaliation is equally playful, but like a switch tripped Tony's brain flips from light-hearted fun times before they head home to wanting something that'll keep them both working late.

Rising up on his toes, he nuzzles up to put his mouth close to Steve's ear. "Do that again."

Another laugh and another swat, both gently indulgent, and it's a good try but not good enough. Tony locks his arms around Steve's neck, body stretched out long and pressed snugly to Steve's front. "Do it again _harder_," he clarifies.

Steve's head shifts a fraction, not enough space for him to actually turn, and there's a moment of silence that says he's thinking about it. "How hard?"

That wasn't the question Tony had been expecting. His pulse kicks up a notch. "Just harder."

It's not a great answer and Tony doesn't really figure on Steve going for it, so the noise the slap of Steve's hand to his ass jolts out of him is pretty much all surprise. The angle's awkward, the difference in their heights making it hard for Steve to really reach the meat of his ass. He rocks up high on his toes just in time for the next one to land square on one cheek, loud and only a little stinging.

"C'mon, back up," Tony says, his lips grazing the pulse jumping in Steve's neck. "Put me over the couch so you can really give it to me."

Backing up one step, then two, Steve says, "You're serious."

"You're always saying I can be a brat sometimes." The couch is right there but Steve doesn't move. "So haul down my pants and spank me like one."

The hitch in Steve's breath isn't quite a laugh. As hands settle on his hips and Steve sits down, Tony's still pretty sure the dirty little fantasy playing out in his head isn't going to come true. Almost one hundred percent sure right up until the moment Steve unzips his slacks and pushes both them and his shorts straight down past his knees. He toes off his shoes and wriggles his way out of his socks in a hurry, ready to fling himself right over Steve's knee.

 

"Not like that," Steve says, sinking lower against the cushions and catching him before he can stretch out. "Straddle my lap so I can touch you."

Tony's insides do a fancy three-point twist as he braces a hand on Steve's chest and settles down. "Sounds good to me," he says, and gathers up his shirt and jacket to tug them up out of the way as he drapes himself over Steve's shoulder. The slight pressure against his ribs and the wide spread of his knees does almost as much for him as a good round of foreplay; the graze of Steve's palm over his bare ass sends it rocketing straight past the bar.

He's so caught up in the anticipation of the smack of Steve's hand that his skin is already tingling long before it lands. It even stings this time and he sucks in a breath that's more of a laugh. "I'm good," he says, before Steve can ask. "Go again."

Steve's mouth brushes his side, light and ticklish. "The same or harder?"

"Little bit harder," Tony says as he tries to scoot closer. He jerks forward as Steve strikes him again, letting loose with a moan when the head of his cock catches on the soft cotton of Steve's shirt. There's no time to tell Steve that's the way he wants it before another crack rings loud in his ears, half a second delay between it and the burn that sparks to life on his skin. Anybody else would be working overtime to get in a swing half as hard as that in a position like this, but of course Steve can pack a wallop either way.

"You'll have to tell me when you've had enough," Steve says, pausing to rub away the sting before another slap brings it roaring back.

Tony nods, wriggling a hand down between them to fist his cock. Pure pleasure shoots through him at exactly the same moment Steve goes again, and it's like the smack knocks his nerves completely out of whack, pleasure going right off the rails. He bites at the meat of his forearm, not trying to stifle his groan but needing some extra way to let everything rattling around inside him out.

He hears Steve asking him something but he hasn't got a clue what. It's the same thing every single time he gets Steve to do something Captain fucking America has no good business doing: he gets so caught up in it the rest of the world just vanishes. "Didn't catch that," he says, squeezing at his cock as fingers skim close to his hole. His body snaps highwire taut. "Fuck, yes. Right there."

Steve's hands circle back to spread the cheeks of his ass, dry fingers skipping over the clench of his hole. His breaths go short, sharp, and then stop entirely as he waits for it. Three seconds in he starts to tremble from the effort of holding so perfectly still, his lungs already aching. "Come on," he says on the tail end of moan, clutching hard at the back of the couch. "Slap me. Give me a really good one."

There's a few second's delay before Steve warns, "It'll hurt," but not in that way where he means he's just not going to do it, end of story, full stop, so Tony's better off saving his breath.

"Yeah, a little, and it's gonna be fucking amazing. Go light and fast, and don't stop until I'm bright fucking pink."

That gets a sugar sweet noise out of Steve. The first one lands off to the side, a goddamn tease and a preview all at once, and Tony leaves off playing with his cock in favour of really paying attention. That lasts about as long as his best intentions usually do when Steve keeps deliberately missing by _that fucking much_. All he can hear is the high-pitched slap of skin on skin, the flat of Steve's hand sharp and stinging and not slowing down one bit.

He's smack in the middle of telling Steve c'mon, hurry up, _do it_, trying to goad him into it even though that never fucking works, when a slap dead-centre bullseye sends a thin cry cutting right through his words. Steve's shoulder drives into his gut as he jolts forward but he's scrambling up less than a second later, his chest skidding down the cushions as he twists at an awkward angle to get his ass higher.

The sudden silence settles on Tony's back as heavy and muffling as a stuffy wool blanket. He stays where he is, concentrating on the steady pound of his heart, the reactor pulsing in time with it and the air he drags into his lungs is thick and crackling like the case is cracked and he's bleeding energy into the atmosphere. His ass is burning, feels red-hot and over-sensitive, and the lightest brush of Steve's fingers across one cheek and down over his hole has him squirming.

"Still not enough for you, is it," Steve says, hushed and only a little wondering. The best Tony's got for an answer is a shiver and another moan, but that's all it takes. A flurry of sharp-edged smacks sends Tony spiralling high and he can't keep still, doesn't want to fuck up Steve's aim but he can't help it.

Steve locks an arm around him to hold him in place and that's it, he's done for; nobody in their right fucking mind could keep it together in the face of being held down like that. He fumbles at the zip on Steve's jeans, the image of his come streaked bright white over Steve's dick the only thing that lets him hang on long enough to get in and haul it out.

He loses it about two point five seconds after that, one hand roughly tugging on his cock and the other wrapped probably too tightly around Steve's. Not even bothering to catch his breath, he slithers down off the couch to land in a boneless, half-naked heap between the spread of Steve's legs, his hands clumsy and his mouth sloppy when he gets it on the mess he's made. He licks up what he can between sucking on Steve's cock and nuzzles at his balls, and the brief thought of getting a mouthful of come is overshadowed by the thrill of not giving Steve a chance to back out of shooting on his face.

Maybe Steve still gives it a try, maybe he doesn't, Tony's kind of being an asshole and not listening to anything coming out of Steve's mouth that isn't some form of moan, groan or demand for more. The first shot ends up on his tongue anyway and he pulls back, tilts his face up and a little to the side to let Steve's come spill over his mouth and down his chin, thick smears of it clinging to his goatee and dripping down to spatter on his loosened tie.

He settles into a self-satisfied slump against Steve's thigh, come cooling on his face and his ass still hot and throbbing. So what if he didn't plan on going to that meeting anyway, now he's got the very good excuse of a tanned hide to keep him out of the boardroom. The hem of his jacket brushing it feels like tiny little pins poking him, there's no way he's sitting in a chair for at least seventeen hours.

Steve shifts and there's a quiet rustling noise before a tissue smelling vaguely of aloe rubs against his cheek. Not opening his eyes, he says, "You're going to get fuzzies in my beard."

"Better a few of those on your face when you walk out of here than something else," Steve says, trying for admonishing but only managing fondly exasperated.

"They've seen worse."

"Not from me they haven't," Steve says, tiling his chin up to swipe at a thin trickle that somehow made it as far as his throat.

A slow grin takes over Tony's face as he lazily opens his eyes. "By the way, that was awesome. You know, in case you somehow missed that part where I came like a freight train. Wait, no, of course you didn't. You were on the tracks right behind me."


End file.
